


However Partial

by quamquam20



Series: However Partial [1]
Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Clothed Sex, Dry Humping, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Force Bond (Star Wars), Humiliation, Kylo Ren is a Mess, Not Canon Compliant, One Shot, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Star Wars: The Last Jedi, Smut, attempted bed sharing, brief choking fantasy, grabbing and pinning that gets erotic, redemption begins with dry humping, self-loathing but make it sexy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:40:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23806264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quamquam20/pseuds/quamquam20
Summary: It's when they're not fighting that things get messy.
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Series: However Partial [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1715140
Comments: 42
Kudos: 221





	However Partial

* * *

She hurts to look at. Physically, it hurts. Months later.  
  
But in an odd way, he's relieved to see Rey again. The bond's been quiet for so long, she has to be blocking it. There's nothing but an occasional ripple of her stronger emotions—rage, fear, happiness. Sometimes a bolt of adrenaline or of loneliness, or a shifting thing that he suspects is arousal.  
  
This connection got through, though, and Rey doesn't hesitate to get to her feet and swing hard at him. She's been practicing. The blue lightsaber is a humming blur that he only just catches and deflects with a clash before she spins and he has to swat it away again. She shouts in frustration.  
  
_She's a hurricane, isn't she?_ Rey is furious, and it's tempting to think she's on the brink of finally giving in. But he knows better. This is incandescent—a beam of light that sears away the cloudiness and leaves him far behind.  
  
Suddenly, in the middle of him, Kylo wants to try it.

 _How can she be like that?_ Could he be like that?  
  
There's a lot he doesn't understand. But he understands this, somehow: that she comes in surging waves. That she thinks of him and hates herself for it. That she would fuck part of him and kill the rest.  
  
Or is he just projecting?  
  
Her eyes are blazing as her chest heaves with exertion, breath fogging in the cold air where she is. She's pacing, barely out of range. He digs a little into her mind and she snarls at the feeling before she slams down on it, pushing him out.  
  
Oh.  
  
_Oh._  
  
He's the worst. He's just a creep who won't leave her alone. The thread of him snakes through her thoughts, and where he expects a tangle of conflicted knots, it‘s... nothing. A blank wall that the thread disappears beneath. He hasn't misread any signals because there are none.  
  
“Sorry.” He's not thinking straight. Pulls his outstretched hand back.  
  
_That_ she responds to. Brows drawing together, lips parted in surprise. She looks so confounded that he wants to apologize for apologizing. How ridiculous is that?  
  
“Ben?”

Sure. Whatever. He'll answer to anything she calls him.  
  
And that's when the connection ends.

* * *

  
Three days.  
  
That's how long it's been since he slept. Really slept. Not this awful trying that just ends up with him staring at the ceiling, his mind whirring like an off-kilter engine. He usually gives up and reads a reconnaissance report, the datapad casting a soft blue glow in the otherwise dark room. The reports are so boring that he's surprised they haven't knocked him out yet. But maybe it's too soon—he's still in the early stages of trying to find a cool spot in the sheets. He knows why it's happening, though. With Snoke gone, his thoughts are suddenly quiet, and he feels eerily alone. The nights are long and there are so many things to worry about and remember.

The subtle electrical droning of the ship falters and fades and he almost can't believe it, but of course he can. This is just his luck.  
  
Kylo rubs his palm over his face. If she wants to fight, he can’t do much about it. He's so fucking tired, he can't drag himself out of bed. He doesn't even sit up—just reaches out for his lightsaber and it flies into his grasp. It stays unignited. If the Supreme Leader is found dead the next morning, naked in bed and slashed up by a lightsaber, he's at least going to have his own weapon in his hand.  
  
“Can we just... not?” he asks, wincing in the dark at how scratchy and defeated his voice sounds. The hum of her blade doesn't stop, but it doesn't get any closer, either, so that's something. “Nobody has to know that we stopped trying to kill each other for three minutes.”  
  
She's so cautious. It crashes through the bond.  
  
“Where are you?” Clipped. Rey doesn't really ask things obliquely, does she? And his guard is so down that it almost makes him smile. But not quite.  
  
“In bed.”  
  
Through the echo of the connection, her breathing hitches and the pause stretches out into significance.  
  
“Are you alone?” She whispers it. _Whispers._  
  
He lifts his head to look at her. No way is this happening. It's a dream. Such a ridiculous question. He waves his lightsaber hilt around to take in his immediate surroundings.  
  
“You can't be serious.”  
  
Rey averts her eyes when he sits up, because he's shirtless. Again. Nothing on the bottom, either, but that's irrelevant and everything from his waist down is under the sheets anyway.  
  
“I just didn't know if...”

“If anybody is keeping me awake?” he finishes for her. Still won't look at him. Rey nods and she's blushing. “Just you.”  
  
She powers down her lightsaber, and it's entirely too quiet then. When will this connection cut out and save him?  
  
“Where are you?” Kylo asks. He's too out of it to make it sound anything but conversational.  
  
“Not—” She gives him a sidelong glance. “Not in bed.”  
  
“Do you want to be?”  
  
_Can't help it. Too sleepy. Too easy._  
  
Rey scrunches her nose at the joke and, if he's completely honest with himself, it's cute. He's immediately hit with the image of her crawling over the expanse of the mattress towards him and there's not a single thing he wants more than that right now.  
  
“I'm serious,” he says. His voice doesn't even sound like his, it's so raspy. He stretches over to put his lightsaber on a nearby table, then reaches out to her because he's already made this strange as hell. Might as well try. “Come here.”  
  
She's staring now, but it's not how he wants. Her eyes are too narrowed.  
  
“What's wrong with you?”  
  
_Hell if I know._  
  
He stops reaching and lets his arm flop.  
  
“Haven't slept in forever,” he tells her. Too much work, not enough training. Nobody to tell him what to do. Hideous nightmares that he must deserve. A restless and roiling mind.  
  
Rey shakes her head.  
  
“You've been drugged.” She says it very definitively. “You should go to the medbay.”  
  
“Ahhhh, I see.” Like she won't be lunging at him with a lightsaber in a few days. Few minutes, even. “Worried somebody will beat you to it?”  
  
The look on her face is complicated. Exasperation, regret. And beneath it all, she kind of wants to laugh.  
  
“I'm just going to pretend this never happened,” she says finally.  
  
“Thanks.”  
  
She's so... takeable, and when the connection cuts out, he has to remind himself that he wants to destroy her.

* * *

It's easy for her to pretend. Less easy to stop wondering what would have happened if she'd climbed between his sheets.  
  
Rey is nothing but liquid, molten shame when she realizes it. She wants what's best for him, of course. But he's in the dreams that threaten to drip down the insides of her legs when she gets out of her bunk in the morning. And sometimes when she uses her fingers to get relief, in stolen private moments, she imagines what feels delicious and broken—his hand tight around her throat, squeezing until her eyes roll back. Him taking her roughly from behind, her bent over a table, strands of hair sticking to their sweaty faces and it's definitely Kylo, not Ben.  
  
After the orgasm, she always hops into the sonic like it can be cleaned off of her.  
  
But it's in her.

* * *

  
Their blades locked, he's close enough to see the droplets of sweat on her face. He imagines grabbing her by the chin and licking a path along her jaw to her ear.

_Because that's normal._

Instead, Kylo crushes his bottom lip between his teeth in concentration and takes another step forward. He didn't come all this way, hunting her down, to stare. Rey's eyes drop to his mouth.  
  
And stay there. Her expression is so open, then so torn, and she looks like she's about to say something. But that frosts over and she's angling her lightsaber and he sees it a half a second before she does it. With a huge heave, he sends Rey's lightsaber flying out of her hands. Before she can call it to her, he flings it aside with the Force, the silver hilt glinting away in the dark underbrush of the forest.  
  
He grabs her. Just wraps his arms around her narrow shoulders and pins her to him so there's no room between them for her to twist. She struggles, attempting to drop down through his grip, to get to the blaster holstered at her thigh. He holds tight. Then she tries frantically to push him away using the Force, to kick him, but he grounds down where he's standing.  
  
“Just stop!” She's clawing at the thick fabric of his tunic and he can barely feel it. He gives her a little shake. “Rey!”  
  
“Get—" She slams her fist into his stomach as hard as she can, but there's no room to pull her arm back, so it's little more than a thump. “—off of me!”  
  
“You'll kill me. No.”  
  
Rey growls, like an animal that's been cornered, but she stops. She's trying to catch her breath and he can smell her hair and skin. He's never been this close to her before while she's awake. And that makes him feel filthy.  
  
_Don't get hard._  
  
As soon as he thinks it, he knows it's way too late. His blood's up from fighting and she's all tightly coiled muscle that's squirming against him. He moves his hips away.  
  
“Fine,” she huffs. “How long do we have to do this?”  
  
He didn't think that far ahead. Didn't think at all, really.  
  
“Until you won't kill me,” he says instead.  
  
Rey snorts and it's the first time he's ever heard her laugh.  
  
“Well, I hope you're comfortable,” she shoots back. “Because we're going to be here for a while.”  
  
He's decidedly uncomfortable, actually. Because of how he grabbed her, he can feel her breasts against his arm and he can't stop the pulsing in his cock. She smells like water and musk and fresh sweat. He's canting so it won't brush up against her.  
  
“What are you doing?” she asks, a worried rise at the end of the question. Leaning over, she tries to look down to see what's going on. He contorts again, switching sides.  
  
“Nothing,” he snaps.  
  
“Ben, if you're trying to get to your lightsaber—”  
  
The noise he makes is less of a laugh and more of a panicked shout.

“Ben, are you alright?”  
  
He fucks up and peers down at her, and her face is so close and beautiful and concerned that he has to look away and blow out an exhale.  
  
“Are you hurt?”  
  
Why does she seem to care now? Wasn't that the whole point of fighting? Also, yes, it is starting to ache now that he thinks about it.  
  
“It's nothing,” he says with savage finality.  
  
They stand in silence for a while and she's so warm that it's burning through the layers of clothes between them.  
  
Rey watches the forest idly, suspiciously relaxed. He tightens his grip because that's exactly when she would try to rip herself out of his hold.

“Ow.” He can hear the betrayal in her voice. Loosens his arms. Just a bit. “I'm not going anywhere,” she says.  
  
“Why not?”  
  
“Because I'll try to kill you.”  
  
He shakes his head in frustration.  
  
Rey sniffs. Like, really sniffs.  
  
“Are you wearing aftershave?” It's more of an accusation than a question and she sounds unimpressed.  
  
“No,” he lies.  
  
She's on her tiptoes, stretching up to his face and he thinks his heart has stopped for a solid four seconds while she takes a deep breath.  
  
“Liar.”  
  
He's lightheaded. All of his blood's in his cock and he can't handle this right now. She eases back down, sliding over his chest, but she doesn't take her eyes off of him.  
  
“I like it,” she decides.  
  
_I'll bathe in it. Drink it. Anything._  
  
Rey shrugs under the weight of his arms and tries to rotate a little. He squeezes harder.  
  
“Ben, stop. I'm trying—” She makes a clenched-jawed sound of annoyance. “—to get in a better position.” He lets her get more comfortable. “Since we'll be here forever.”  
  
She wraps her arms around him and suddenly they're embracing but ostensibly trying to constrain the other. If she goes for the blaster, he'll feel it. He's never been so confused in his life. Especially when she rests her head on his chest and sighs.  
  
“So,” she asks with a mock casualness that overlies immense irritation. “Do you want to talk about your mother?”  
  
It feels like he chokes on his own tongue. No— _this_ is the most confused he's ever been.  
  
“No.”

Rey sways a little, rocking him where they stand. He's already off balance from trying to keep the length of his cock from pushing into her hip and the flat muscles of her abdomen. Which he can feel as she moves, and it's not helping at all.  
  
“You give terrible hugs,” Rey says. It's bait, and he refuses to take it.

“This isn't a hug.”  
  
She looks up at him.  
  
“It is.”  
  
“I'm restraining you and you're being....” What's the right word? Weird? Flirty? Profoundly unsettling?  
  
Rey waits.  
  
“You think it's a joke,” he finishes, trying to make it sound stern, but it comes out a bit pitiful. He's kicking himself.  
  
“No. I think it's very serious.” The teasing is gone from her voice. “I have a blaster and you are still standing like you're hiding something. I don't know where your lightsaber is.”  
  
This forsaken planet is so damn humid. He can feel it prickle up his neck even though it's dusk and it should be cooling off soon. He unwraps one arm from around her to unclip and throw his lightsaber off to the side. His arm returns.  
  
The only sounds in the darkening clearing are their breathing and faraway insects.  
  
Rey begins to move her arm, too.  
  
“Don't.” Is he _begging_? It sounds jagged. He really hates that she would put a blaster bolt through his stomach at point-blank range, but he can't blame her.  
  
She stops.  
  
“I was just...” Rey's voice sounds different, too. Hushed. Like her mouth's gone dry. “I was going to take it off.”  
  
“I don't believe you.”  
  
“You do it, then.” She flings the words at him, but they don't sting when they land. They feel good.  
  
He tries to be efficient about it—one arm firm around her, hand spread wide over her upper back so he'll feel her shoulder blades shift if she tries anything. Kylo knows the blaster's holstered to her right leg, but he didn't pay attention to where exactly; he's making this up as he goes. It's definitely on the belt. He'll just follow that until he finds the blaster and _nothing_ about this is going to remedy the erection situation. When his gloved fingers tap carefully at the leather strap across her waist, he could swear he sees her shiver.  
  
“Sorry.” Way too gentle.  
  
“It's okay.”  
  
Kylo has to bend down to reach her thigh, bringing his head nearer to hers. He's practically breathing against her neck and Rey closes her eyes and he does kind of want the ground to swallow him up. For some reason, he thinks it's a good idea to watch her face while he skims her hip and runs his hand down her leg, so he sees it when she licks her lips and keeps her mouth open while he fumbles with the holster. With leather-covered fingers, he can't tell if the safety's off. Shooting her in the foot isn't really his style, so he's yanking off his gloves behind her back and letting them flop to the damp forest floor, forgotten.  
  
He retraces his path down her hip—goes slow, buzzing at the sensation of the damp air and her surprisingly soft clothes against his bare skin. No, she _definitely_ shivered. He's sure of it now because she does it again and, almost imperceptibly, her fingers flex along the curve of his back. He checks the safety with a metallic rattle, pulls out the blaster, and throws it aside. It lands in a patch of ferns with a rustle and a thump, sending up a small puff of floating purple seeds from unseen plants.  
  
She's probably unarmed now, but he won't assume. He's back at the holster, giving it a jiggle to knocking anything else loose. Dips his fingers in and digs around. Nothing. His hand doesn't want to leave her. He could pretend to check the strap that encircles her thigh. That idea makes his cock twitch, and he's really lost control of the whole situation.  
  
“Your turn,” she says.  
  
“I already—”  
  
But she's pivoting her hips against his and moving her legs to turn him and he's so fucked because he hasn't come in days and just this bit of moving against her could do it for him. She's all he thinks about—he's basically trained himself to get off to this scenario.  
  
He opens his mouth to object, but it's like she either already knew or hasn't noticed because she’s pressing herself against him, zipping up the distance between them so their entire bodies are in contact. She _has_ to know. Even through layers, she's got to be feeling the warm weight of it. There's no way.  
  
But Rey doesn't say anything.  
  
He doesn't know where to touch. What he really needs to do is grip her hips, bruisingly rough, and push his cock up hard between them until he's shaking and mumbling things he can't take back. He's so ferociously repulsive; she makes him feel like all he's good at—good for—is fucking and killing and he likes that about her, really. When she swings her lightsaber at him, the only thing he knows is how badly he wants to watch his come landing hot on her skin. He gets off on remembering how she cut him, didn't take his hand.  
  
_Such a mess._ His hands go to Rey's waist.  
  
And she gives the smallest roll into him and it is so perfect that he groans like his cock is in her mouth. She gives him goosebumps. Replenishes and drains and he always knew that if they stopped trying to destroy each other for long enough, this would happen. Because they orbit around each other and eventually, in the feral circling and sizing each other up, they will want to taste it. Because he does. He really, really does.  
  
Kylo guides his leg between hers. Just a little nudge, a little pressure where she might want it. And she's opening her thighs, angling to tilt everything the right way, and then she starts to move.  
  
_Fuuuuck._  
  
Rey's resting her forehead against his chest and that won't change. She won't look at him while they do this. Not yet. He understands. She can pretend he's an uncomplicated stranger from the waist down if she stays like that.  
  
Not for him, though. No, he has to see her and watch her body be guilty and needy and driven by instinct. That's what he likes anyway—to take in how she's getting off on him, against her better judgment. How she's grinding her clit into the tensing muscles of his thigh through their clothes—even though she hates him—because she's just that desperate. Because she'd have to be, right? To stay this close to him?  
  
That's what's doing it for him. That pinpoint pain of being disgusting enough to know that she must just be so unfucked. She doesn't even have to touch him to make him come from that, but this motion is pulling the fabric of his pants taught against his shaft and it's hitting the head, too, and he can feel the slight slip of precome. His hands on her ass, she's shaking now and he won't talk and ruin it for her, but he's thinking it so loudly.  
  
_Use me. Use me, use me. Throw me away when you're done._  
  
And it builds so fast for him that he's caught off guard, the violence of it and how hard his cock is pumping. There's no way she wants to hear him so he lets his jaw drop open silently and squeezes his eyes shut to keep it all in but he's holding his breath for too long and can't stop the jolt and the gasp at the very end.  
  
She holds on to him, almost climbing, and jerks her hips and makes the best noises he's ever heard while she comes—moans and quick flashes of tight-teethed almost words melting into a long sigh.  
  
She dissolves him, doesn't she? It's a lonely torture because Rey doesn't even know she's doing it.  
  
Eyes shining under the stars as she gazes up at him, her hair disheveled. Even in the night, her lips look darker and fuller from her orgasm.  
  
He's lost. He was lost the instant he first saw her on Takodana. Different forest. Same fight. Ben threads his fingers through her hair at the nape of her neck and he's doing it before he decides to, bringing his mouth to hers in a catching, slick crash. And, for a moment—for a heart-stopping moment—she drags him down to her and gives in and he feels her tongue before she remembers what she's doing and who he is, and breaks away, taking a stumbling step back.  
  
He doesn't look at her face because it's just going to be wide, horrified eyes and her hand over her mouth at what they've done. And he always thought he'd love that but, turns out, he can't actually bring himself to watch it happen.  
  
Rey hesitates, getting her bearings, unsteady on her legs. Retrieves the blaster from the carpet of ferns and runs off to find her lightsaber without looking back.  
  
He's so drunk on her, he doesn't even try to stop it.


End file.
